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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29321115">the veils with which we adorn ourselves</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/xeuforiax/pseuds/xeuforiax'>xeuforiax</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Growth, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Get Together, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Mild spoiler in the end notes, Polyjuice Potion, Post-War, cahracter development, delayed actual meeting, goodwilled deception, massive character building</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:02:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>19,104</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29321115</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/xeuforiax/pseuds/xeuforiax</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's life's settled in after the war. At least somewhat. He's got loving friends, found some meaningful work for him at Nimbus Racing Broom Company, kind of arragned himself with the fact he might not be as heterosexual as he used to believe.</p><p>Well, as for the latter, the implementation of a fullfilling love life might be capable of development. Until now, he hasn't figured out, how to avoid the Prophet getting a hint of it, while also casually dating someone. But he can't go clubbing and shagging some random guy every other night under the disguise of polyjuice potion forever as well, can he?<br/>Especially not, when one of said guys gets behind his little secret...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Original Male Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm not native english (as it might be obvious after a few paragraphs) , but I really don't want to write in my mother tongue because I feel it's not suited for fanfic, really.<br/>Even though I feel quite content with my language knowledge and the help of translators (oops) it might be disgusting to read for natives (I can't tell at all, my choice of words is probably odd and the way I phrase things, sorry) </p><p>Anyways, I reaaaally like my idea (aiming for aprx. 40-50k), and don't want it to rot in my head, ugh.</p><p>Idk, if someone thinks, these first chapters sound promising and not completley rubbish and is interested in reading the story as it follows on, but if you are, don't restrain from making a bookmark (it's the only way I can verify, that I'm not updating for no one)</p><p>I might delete this draft and re-upload it again</p><p>Addition: I like reading smut but don't really feel content in writing it (at least not in the flow of this story), thats why I keep it superficial/mature instead of explicit. Its just not the main point of what I want to tell</p><p>MILD SPOILER IN END NOTES: for the people who want to know where so story leads to</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry swallows hard. No matter how many different blokes he already had the pleasure to try out, their polyjuice potion never tasted good. But it’s a welcome torture, besides the accompanying pain, for the advantages he got out of it.</p><p>He watches his body transform, feels his clothes getting a just little tighter. He’s keen to always match the body type of his ‘donors’ to his own. Not that those donors knew about this honour. Most every time Harry sees someone who resembles him to a certain percentage, he just snatches a hair from their coat, or, when it's very lively, actually rips one from their head in the disguise of stumbling into that person. He doesn't really know if that was legal... Not the hair stealing thing, but the using of someone else's identity. Harry reassures himself though by emphasizing he isn't about to do something illegal while in his borrowed appearance. He merely wants to get a good shag without running the constant risk of being identified as the saviour of the UK if not the whole world. And that is a rather decent and understandable excuse in his eyes.</p><p>As the transformation finishes he looks at the result in the mirror. He hasn’t quite remembered anymore how handsome his chosen personification for this evening is, and is very pleasantly surprised. If it wasn't himself ‘wearing’ this body, he’d hit on the bloke that was looking at him with dark eyes through the mirror.</p><p>The narrow facial features with a straight striking nose are just remotely similar to his own angular, strong jaw and stern front. Not to speak about the hair. The bloke he is facing right now has sandy blond hair falling down in waves at the length of his chin.<br/>
Actually it is only their height, weight and Caucasian heritage whereon they match. Which are the most relevant parts to Harry to feel content and congruent when, well, taking sexual actions in a body that isn't really his. Also its convenient wardrobe-wise. It is a tragedy he can't determine the size of the prick when going for DNA hunting but that's how it is. As he runs a hand through his current hair he misses his own dishevelled curls.</p><p>Usually he prefers appearances, that resemble his own to a higher degree, but from time to time he can’t resist to hustle samples from his own target group. Sometimes Harry wonders if he is some kind of pervert looking for cheap excuses to live out a strange kink. Surely enough he could just go to some muggle’s place and find a partner for the night there. In case of those occurring doubts, he usually convinces himself, that having the desire to be under his own people, was really not too much to ask for. Was he to go to Muggle London’s establishments he’d have to be on constant alert not to use magic. Choosing a change in facade appearance wise thus seems much more convenient than behaviour wise.</p><p>Agitated but also mesmerized by his new body, Harry rummages through his wardrobe to look for that one pair of black jeans that usually fits a bit loose and would be a perfect fit for his current waist size. While changing he can't resist peeking in his boxers, only to find a rather normal prick hanging there, relaxed unsurprisingly.<br/>
Harry then decides that his plain white shirt would do, gives himself a self-confident grin, grabs a spare flask of polyjuice - just in case - some money and apparates to 'The Fortune Teller'.</p><p> </p><p>It takes no second for Harry to realize it was trance-night tonight. Not his favourite genre but usually it attracts the open-minded portion of young wizards, so that’s a plus. He always notices with interest which parts of muggle culture is adapted to the wizarding world, and music must be the greatest probably.<br/>
Inside Harry scans the gathered crowd, searching for bright blue hair, fair skin, trashy outfit and is soon rewarded. He makes his way through the room towards the bar where he has found his friend leaning on.<br/>
"Hey Falk, it's me, Harry", he says while poking the other man’s shoulder. He's surprised by his own low raspy voice, having not heard it yet.<br/>
Falk turns around, and grins immediately. "Nice man, outdoing yourself with your choice this time, huh?" Harry notices Falk’s approving gaze roaming over his body. Though he knows it's not targeted at him as Harry, it's strange having a good friend look at you with 'those' eyes.<br/>
"You don't happen to remember where you snatched that sample of hair, do you?", Falk asks without even trying to disguise his attraction.<br/>
"No, and could you please stop having such a predatory look? I'm here to find a good shag and not to convince everybody I'm already claimed", Harry responds half-jokingly but also with low-key threat in his voice.<br/>
Falk laughed. "Don't worry, you'll get your share tonight if you’re so eager to." He turns around and orders some drinks for them both. "How was your day?"<br/>
Harry smiles. "Great, my proposal for the Nimbus 3000 got accepted. I'll probably get a big ass bonus and will be head leader of the development team.”</p><p> "Congrats", Falk flashes a big smile and pats Harry's Shoulder in approval, "I knew you'd make it. Looks like soon we’ll have people busting the store again." Harry grins in self-confidence and lets his glance sway over the club’s guests. Until now he hasn't really spotted someone that caught his eye. “Thanks. Which is exactly why I want to round it up with a good fuck tonight, before I’ll be busy with work day and night again."<br/>
"I really don’t get, why you're not looking for a relationship, Harry", Falk shakes his head, "Wouldn't it be much nicer to have a regular fuck buddy who also actually cares for you and who you can celebrate those moments with? I mean, not that I object of being your current preferred choice of company."</p><p>Harry grins, "I like your definition of romantic partner as ‘fuck buddy who cares'. At least I don't wonder why you keep on being single deliberately."<br/>
"Don't dodge the implied question."<br/>
Harry sighs. "We talked this over more than twenty times now, haven’t we? I don't want to go public... And I'm pretty sure it's not an option to have a relationship, that heavily relies on the use of polyjuice." The topic stings Harry's guts.</p><p>Sure, when he realized he was more or less homosexual, he was all excited about exploring and gaining new experiences rather than jumping straight into a relationship. His new work at Nimbus Racing Broom Company. claimed almost all of his leisure at that time, only amplifying his lack of commit. And after all, both had been reasons he and Ginny didn't work out and though they remained as friends, it was a breakup he had to overcome, nonetheless.</p><p>But this was 4 years ago. Now that his everyday work has come to a routine and he has found himself a very nice flat in Wizarding London, that was not filled with painful memories as Grimmauld Place was, now that he has a steady group of friends, and a steady psyche and, yeah, practically a settled life… he was ready and open for a relationship. If it wasn’t for his prominence and the stuck-up wizarding world concerning same sex relationship.<br/>
"I know, I know. And I understand but I also don't want to see you scourge yourself." Falk’s face has a sympathetic concerned expression, that fades into a delighted smile seconds after. "Hey, isn't that Cassiopeia?" Harry turns to the indicated direction and brightens up himself. Just like Falk he knows Cas through their Company's Quidditch-Team and even though they all work in different departments - Falk in service, Cas in financial - they often spend lunch together and sometimes meet up at bars. Harry likes her carefree, lively manner which is accentuated by her open friendly face but stands in contrast to her long black hair and fierce, dark eyes and also her Slytherin background – as some would presumably say. They wave at her, and she immediately comes over with a somewhat puzzled smile.<br/>
"Hey”, she gives Falk a short hug, then looks at Harry “Won't you introduce me to your friend, Falk?", she prompts. Falk laughs and Harry only now remembers Cas unawareness of his polyjuice potion habit and her thus not recognizing him.<br/>
"It's me, Harry. I... drank some polyjuice potion", he admits, which earns him Falk’s elbow in the rips. "Come on you spoilsport, why are you already out with the truth? Don’t you see a perfect prank template presented on a silver plate?"<br/>
Harry shakes his head, and Cas looks both relieved and disappointed. "Hi... Harry then", hesitating, "This feels so wrong", she adds laughing.</p><p> </p><p>*~*</p><p><br/>
"Tell me why", Cas asks Harry after they had a few drinks, still sitting at the bar and watching Falk manhunting on the dance floor. The music's gotten much louder and people are dancing erratically to some oriental electronic beats.<br/>
"Huh?", Harry as oblivious as ever.<br/>
"That… disguise", she vaguely gestures her hand to indicate his whole body. "I mean, it's somewhat of an upgrade, but not as if you needed one."</p><p>Harry playfully slaps her upper arm but his resent doesn't go any further. "I feel less observed and can act more freely", Harry answers honestly. He and Cas haven't had the talk about his sexuality yet, but he trusts her and the influence of alcohol also loosens his tongue. "Imagine the saviour of wizarding England prancing through clubs hitting on whoever is to his likings. Skeeter might love to make a headline out of it but currently I don't fancy it as much."<br/>
"I didn't take you to be that type of guy", her smirk turns to a frown, "But honestly, I think people are actually more bewildered they never see you approaching anyone at all than maybe catch you with an affair."<br/>
"Oh, I'm sure, their bewilderment by an affair can escalate to unimagined dimensions when it happens to be with a man."<br/>
Her eyes wide, then she smiles again. "I'd be lying if I said I expected it, but it also doesn't surprise me." Her eyes glance over the crowd, fixate on a hopping blue dot, then with sudden realization "You and Falk... You're not an item, are you?"<br/>
Harry nearly chokes on his drink. "Merlin, no. We are more like support buddies for each other." Sadly, it's mostly Harry asking support from Falk - especially emotional one - than the other way around. Falk has no troubles with living his life out of the closet. He just enjoys the company of a fellow gay.<br/>
Harry can't suppress a sigh. How he wishes he wasn't famous.<br/>
"Okay, good.  At that point I really would have doubted my human knowledge. I love you both but... I don't think it’d be a fit. Speaking of, anyone here to your liking then?"<br/>
Harry noticeably relaxes by Cas' accommodating reaction, and just by that realized how scared he was nonetheless she might not accept him.<br/>
"Err...", he hasn't expected his private outing to go this smoothly. "I guess. I actually haven't quite looked around yet." With which he catches up immediately. He scans the moving people, stopping every now and then to examine a person in deeper detail, but none of those present stick remarkably to his mind.<br/>
"I like this one", Cas discretely points at a slender young man, bright blond hair tied to a bun, faint of a beard, leaning at a pillar, seemingly checking out the crowd, too.</p><p>For a short moment they lock eyes, leaving Harry to wonder, if Harry was his type. He's not convinced though. First, he needs to be gay. Unlikely enough. And second, they actually look quite alike, and that usually never comes in handy. For a moment Harry damns himself for today’s choice of DNA. What good does it gain him, when the face in the mirror is close to his target group but scares off this exact group.</p><p>Harry shrugs it off. "Out of my league probably", he proclaims his final judgement.<br/>
Cas nods knowingly. "I see where this comes from. But I also think a little challenge might boost your fighting spirit?" She winks at him, clearly exposing her inner Slytherin. "Who gets his owl, hmm... let me think. Well of course obviously also gets the snack and... gets treated to lunch for one week?"<br/>
The idea is dumb enough for Harry to actually consider it. A tipsy brain appreciates risky and potentially profitable provocation.<br/>
"What if we both fail?"<br/>
"Well, then there's plenty of other fish here, right?" Her enthusiasm is contagious. Harry can barely wait to hit on the guy.<br/>
"Well then, I'm first", Cas crosses his plans and is no second later on her way to Blondie, as Harry decides to call him until further elucidation.<br/>
As distraction he finds his own path through the crowd towards Falk and joins him in dancing mindlessly and probably very disgracefully to the fast beats. He is torn out of his trance when a grimily faced Cassiopeia appears in front of his eyes. "He's LITERALLY all yours", she announced her defeat. Harry stops and feels torn out of a bubble not moving every one of his muscles anymore. He could not tell how much time has passed. His sweat drained shirt and hair indicate at least half an hour.<br/>
Falk pops his head between the two. "Who is who's?"<br/>
"See that lad there? I was trying my best to chat him up but he assured me he’s as bent as a butcher's hook”, Cas slurs almost every word. “Not in these words though.”<br/>
"Mhh, I like", Falk smirks. They three of them huddle in a flock like teenagers, stalking their common crush in not the most of discrete ways. Namely they all stare at Blondie, who was again leaning at his pillar. If they had been sober, they might have had the decency to at least act like their visual and conversational attention wasn't all occupied by him, but they weren't. Instead they tucked their heads even closer.</p><p>"Listen", Cas murmurs promising as if to drop the latest gossip, "he even had the audacity to ask me if my friend here", quick glance at Harry, then back to the subject of their topic, "happens to be interested in men and more specifically in him." Her indignation is all just an act, even though a bit of hurt pride shines through.</p><p>Harry can’t shake off the impression of Blondie watching their every movements and words. His eyes are definitely directed at them. He gulps and tries for a wry smile. Blondie laughs, and the music is definitely too loud but Harry could swear, he not only saw but heard it. Maybe some amplifying charm? Harry wonders if that was possible, drifting away in his mind.<br/>
"Harry, I think he’s waving you over.” And right Cas is.<br/>
"What should I do?", Harry asks, oblivious of their resemblance with giggling school girls.<br/>
"I don't know maybe chicken out and loose our bet before even trying. Or maybe saving you a fit for the night?"<br/>
"Okay, okay." Defeated and with the shooing of Falk and Cas he stumbles his way through the crowd towards the other end of the dance floor where some scrutinizing, bright blue eyes await him.<br/>
It’s Blondie who immediately takes the word. "You guys look like you have fun." Harry doesn't know how to answer to that. "Do you usually chat up the same guy for a bet?" And even less to that. He settles for a sheepish smile, rummaging his brain for some witty comeback. He has no idea to what extend Blondie is informed.<br/>
"No, only today. It’s actually our first time." So much for witty.<br/>
"So, you likey?"<br/>
"I'm still in the process of data collection. Too soon to evaluate.” Harry scratches his nape in awkwardness, fingers sliding over sweaty skin, and flinches as his tipsy brain puts the available indicators of his current unsightly appearance together.<br/>
Surprisingly Drew’s not appalled. “I don’t remember giving the declaration of consent to participate in a study”, he fools around, eying Harry with interest.</p><p>“It’s a field study. Briefing comes afterwards.” Harry follows the pace of the joke.</p><p>“I hope I don’t need to be excluded then? Now that I am aware of my part beforehand. Leaves not much briefing to be done anymore to me”, Blondie is visibly amused, which Harry takes in with joy.</p><p>His initial plan to convince with his handsomeness he already wrote off. So, humour and wit it has to be. “Maybe I’ll classify your case as a pilot study.”</p><p>“Generous”, Blondie further quips, "So, my performance today determines the further course of this elucidating scientific project?”</p><p>“One very presumptuous might say it in such a self-centred way”, Harry teases, actually liking Blondies feigned over-confidence. It’s usually an indicator for real healthy confidence.</p><p>“Then I better try and make it a pleasing experience, huh? <em>But</em> I wonder, if this will play into my hands after all?"<br/>
Harry blinks, slightly tilting his head, question mark virtually written on his face. He definitely senses the mood of being hit on, though<br/>
"As I see it, there are two possible outcomes. If today’s experience meets your expectations, it might encourage you to proceed in manifesting a betting habit. Which I don’t want to be the cause of. Whereas when I provide you with lousy experiences today, you might never want to try it with me or anybody again."<br/>
“Then I guess you'll have no other option but to try and make it so memorable, I just can’t get enough of you." The level of propositioning is in no relation to their degree of acquaintance, Harry knows yet ignores for the sake of flirting.<br/>
"Challenging." Blondie flashes another smile, and bites his lips in amusement, then aims at the bar, pulling Harry after him just with his gaze. He follows eagerly.<br/>
"So, who do I have the pleasure to talk with?", Harry asks.<br/>
Blondie’s actually lost for words. "Dr... Drewes... Call me Drewes, or just Drew is fine."<br/>
Harry nods knowingly. He also uses name aliases... and body aliases. Who is he to question someone's motivation to hide their identity.<br/>
"Okay, <em>Drew</em>. Then <em>you</em> can <em>call</em> me Matthew. Or Matt if you like", he replies, making it obvious he sees through him.<br/>
Blondie... No, Drew, grins. "It's not that I don't trust you. I just don't like my actual name."<br/>
"It's fine, everyone has their skeletons in the cupboard. As long as you don't mind your partner screaming 'the wrong name' later on, I don’t mind." Harry’s alcohol induced straight forwardness leaves a lot to be desired. He’s even too drunk to at least properly blush. Something you cannot say about Drew. Face reddening, he chokes a bit, coughs. "You play with very open cards, huh?"<br/>
"I hope I wasn’t misinterpreting the situation. It’s just, someone concealing their real name doesn’t quite give off the ‘earnest dating’ impression."<br/>
"True, true. I think we’re on the same page then. Makes things easier."<br/>
Harry feels great. Not only has he found a rather promising shag, but also probably won a bet in one strike. "How about we get to know each other further on the dance floor?"<br/>
Drew shakes his head in disbelieve about Harry's bluntness but agrees. This time Harry leads. On the way he catches a glimpse of Cas and Falk both giving him thumbs up. It's his first time realizing just how embarrassing they are as a trio. Quickly he shakes these self-deprecating thoughts off, concentrating on the music. And also on Drew, checking him out. His movements are restrained yet smooth. Harry, however, is more of the free spirit type of dancer. Soon he’s absorbed by the music again and the sexually tinged mood has fleeted. While they move and share some casual words they more or less coincidentally keep brushing each other’s body parts from time to time. And the more they talk the more Harry’s attracted on deeper level than just superficial appearance. Drew choses his word wisely, tainting them with intelligence, wit, and a strangely pretentious humbleness. He manages to make a conversation about noisy work mates intriguing. Harry can’t stop himself from sneakily getting more handsy and Drew reciprocates. Luckily. Harry’s getting bolder, driven by his inner maneater that has awoken again. He wraps his hands around Drew’s waist bringing their hips together. There’s no blaming their touches on the dance floors narrowness anymore, this is clearly intentional, and Harry wants Drew to know that. Drew answers by placing his arms loosely on Harry’s shoulders. They keep dancing like that for some time, matching their movements, bit by bit closing the distance between their bodies, slowing down. Drews neck is dangerously close to Harry’s mouth, and he doesn’t hold out for long until he sinks his face in the curve of it, his lips brushing Drews skin, nose greedily sucking in his smell. The neck under his face vibrates with a chuckle. Harry’s torn between looking up and bringing their faces closer or savouring the moment as it is. He decides for the latter and so they keep on dancing entangled as they are. There will be time to make out and ravish each other the whole night long, but this intimate dancing feels almost as if they were here as partners; he can almost pretend he is embracing the most precious person to him, and he closes his eyes to dive deeper into that fantasy, blends out every sense but his tactile. Nonetheless their somewhat rhythmic movements start to stimulate him. A bit too much. Especially in his crotch area. And he’s almost certain he’s not the only one building a tent in his trousers.</p><p>"Up for it?" Drew murmurs in his ear. Harry’s heartbeat quickens. Everything until now was obviously just foreplay for this offer. As sure as it was to happen, now that these words are actually spoken in finality, Harry’s just as bedazzled.<br/>
"Take me to yours.” He can’t believe his own forwardness; his lower body must have taken over. But before he can row back the uncomfortable sensation of being forced through a tube implies Drew’s consent to no longer dawdle.</p><p>The side-along apparition drops them both in a loft apartment with a large window front, that exposes a beautiful view over London’s Thames at night. Only Harry hasn’t time to appreciate that right now, as the urge to vomit comes up. Apparition sickens him every time even when he’s sober.</p><p>“Bathroom”, he utters, then runs towards the kitchenette instead, where he expects a sink to be for sure, as he’s not certain if he can bear the time loss to look out for his initially announced destination.</p><p>It turns out his panic reaction was exaggerated, and his little sporting dedication was enough to soothe his stomach. As cool as possible he turns around, leans against the counter, acts as if nothing happened. “Nice flat you got here.”</p><p>“Thank you. Nice sprint you did there”, Drew mocks, as he strolls closer.</p><p>“Oh, that was hardly me at my best. My athletic peak performance is much higher.”</p><p>“Mh, just like you proved on the dance floor before? I believe you have a lot of stamina,” Drew notes provocatively. They stand body to body again. Just like on the dance floor before. Harry feels the heat of arousal dwelling up, starting in his chest, crawling slowly to his head.</p><p>“Right,” he admits. The rush of blood literally washes all his thinking ability away. Dumbfounded he stares at Drew’s mouth, that simply looks to enticing.</p><p>“My eyes are up here”, his absent attention is called on.</p><p>“That’s of lesser interest right now, y’know?”, Harry mutters, still entranced.</p><p>“You’re surprisingly cute”, Drew cups Harry’s cheek with his left hand, forcing him to divert his view. “Then, let’s not keep you to the torture much longer”, says, leans down and finally their lips meet. Harry sighs with relish as he more than willingly gives in. There’s something undeniably unique to first kisses. It’s not the feeling of soft skins touching or the taste, even if both take considerable portion in good kisses general, and in this one especially. It’s the thrill of finally getting what you’ve been pining for. The climax of long accumulated lust and desire. The starting shot of something exhilarating.</p><p>Though their bodily connection finally lifts some of this build up pressure, there is still a tangible tension in the air that calls for more. Harry’s hands find their way into blond, disheveled hair, that once was neatly tied to a bun but has long ago dissolved to a formless blob of messy strands. The bearer of the hairstyle doesn’t seem to mind. He rather pushes Harry backwards, arms on each side, practically locking him between the kitchen counter and himself, all while gradually deepening their kiss in a voracious manner.</p><p>“How are you so sexy?”, Drew groans, giving up the maintenance of his provisionally implemented cage-trap in favor of grabbing the arse of the captive, much to its delight.</p><p>Harry’s suppresses the need to answer that question as his response would be of nothing but a smug nature, and instead concentrates on the man beneath his fingers. Harry finds, that exploring this certain specimen’s body is a task that actually calls for undivided attention. He can’t tell why, though. Just that he has difficulties to weigh up what to do first. Getting him out off his shirt seems desirable, running his hands over his back just as well. And god, how can he neglect that fine ass Drew himself has any longer?</p><p>He’s freed from the agony of choice, when Drew decides to lift Harry on the countertop, and starts to fiddle on his flies. Harry at first lost for balance, softly moans, enjoys the liberation of this constricting prison of fabric, that had slowly started to get painful. And the aspect that there’s one layer less separating his prick from direct skin contact, might give it a little jump. Harry’s need to wait for that last layer to vanish, proves to be a sweet torment. Drew’s lifted his shirt and kisses his abdomen, raising to the rip cage, brushing his hardened nipples. Every touch of his lips leaves a prickling heat, teases Harry to want more while never giving him the pleasure of satisfaction. Harry’s head flops back in torture, when one of Drew’s thumbs nestles its way under the seam of his boxers.</p><p>“Is that alright?” Drew searches for Harry’s eyes. “Fuck, I didn’t mean to take it too fast”, he adds a nervous laugh.</p><p>“I’d be offended, if you stop now”, Harry unburdens him, accompanied with a pelvic thrust into Drew’s stagnated palm, encouraging it to carry on with whatever it was intending to do.</p><p>Drew takes the (bloody obvious) hint. Impatiently he also pulls on Harry’s trousers. Harry wraps his legs around Drew’s back so he can lift his ass, and his trousers together with his underwear is gone, flapping audibly on the floor but other than that receives no further notice.</p><p>And then not wasting a second more Drew’s mouth comes down on Harry. He gasps, his legs uncontrollably spasming and one of his hands slipping off on the counter. Harry’s bodily misfunction results in a hard smack of the back of his head against the wall behind him.<br/>
"Shit", he mumbles in deep regret of those last two or three drinks.<br/>
"Hug me", Drew, who’s raised his head due the turmoil, says, a slight smirk across his mouth.<br/>
"What?", Harry can't quite follow the change of events. Wasn't he supposed to get a blowjob? Did he destroy the mood with that minor disruption?<br/>
"Just do it. Hold on tight." Well, obediently he follows. Who is he to question his potential bedmate.<br/>
“Up we go”, said mate murmurs, lifting Harry up again. Now that he’s pantsless the friction of his own prick against the soft fabric of Drew’s still clothed crotch allows to feel up the other’s hardened length. Combined with those hands shamelessly groping his ass, finger tips suspiciously close to the crease, Harry forgets the interruption in their flow of sexual actions again. Riled up, he ruts the other man’s torso, not taking note to where he’s carried to. He realizes when the grip underneath him weakens, and he’s half-thrown on a mattress, though.</p><p>On his back, he finds himself climbed onto and plastered with kisses all over his belly, a smooth transition from were they left before. Drew tucks on Harry’s shirt this time intended to get it off of him. Harry props himself on his elbows, easing the process. His remuneration is expressed in form of a shirtless Drew, who’s palatable sight Harry acknowledges with a sharp inhale and biting on his lower lip. He tries to muster a plan to get those pants out of the way, too, with just his gaze, as wand- and wordless spells are off the chart in his current condition.</p><p>“I’d like to continue…”, Drew leaves the utterance hanging in the air like a question. His eyes scoot over Harry, lead from sheer hunger for what lies in front of him.</p><p>“Feel free to…”, Harry moans, tempted. He can’t remember the last time he’s been visually consumed this brazenly, been yearned for this evidently. As pent up as he is, it comes as no surprise to him, when just a few unpolished slides along his shaft are enough to almost take him above the edge.</p><p>“Nghh... fuck”, he gulps and buries his hands in Drew’s hair, bucks his pelvis in self-takeover for a few last thrusts, and climaxes. The brilliant shudder of unadulterated pleasure crushes him. Stars before his eyes and a mild tinnitus overshadow a coughing Drew in the background, and the usual urge to indulge in further sexual activities, and to return the favor at least.</p><p>Instead Harry’s left with complete satisfaction, drifting away into a mellow and dense world of sweet drowsiness, filled with pure gratification and contentment. Gone is every sex drive that has driven him insane just minutes ago. He shuts his eyes, inhales deeply, humming in post-orgasm snugness.</p><p>He can sense something of heavy weight dropping next to him on the mattress, a hand cupping his jaw, a face nuzzling in the curve of his neck. Soft kisses. Tickling hair. Coziness.</p><p>“Let’s continue tomorrow”, a soothing voice says. Harry nods, ready to give in to the need of sleep. But something, habit, withholds him. “I should leave”, he replies. Not quite a convincing statement, when the utterer barley moves one inch, not to speak of his closed eyelids.</p><p>“It’s fine. You are more than welcome to stay the night. I can make us coffee tomorrow.” Luring words paired with light finger strokes along the length of Harry’s body. Oh, it’s so hard to resist. But he must, he knows. It’s deeply rooted inside his brain, though he can’t muster out why to be honest.</p><p>“No, really. I don’t stay nights. I just can’t”, Harry eventually defies and sits up.</p><p>“Fine”, a disappointed Drew surrenders. “Just let me go to the bathroom, then I’ll send you off.”</p><p>“Sure”, Harry complies, relieved to see the adversary go, not knowing that the strongest resistance he has to fight is himself. I’ll just rest my eyes until he returns, he tells himself, already trailed back into slumber.</p><p>If he were still conscious, he’d be the witness of a very delighted Drew as he comes around the corner and spots a drooling Harry in his bed. He’d notice the cover of a blanket pulled over him, the warmth from being spooned from behind. A quiet “Good night, Matty” and a last kiss on his nape.</p><p>But Harry is fast asleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>MILD SPOILER: As mentioined in the tags I give a mild spoiler here. If not obvious at that point, the OC/Drew is supposed to be Draco. It will be revealed at some point of course and before that hinted during various occasions, but if youre a heavy Drarry-Digger and can't bear the Drarry Dynamic being consciously perceived just by Draco, then this might not be the story for you</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this took longer than expected to write down, sorry (to everyone who's actually following up from the start)<br/>as mentioned before there is an existing planned out silver lining of this story. But during writing I sometimes realise I don't quite know where the story will go to in detail myself until I come to the respective scene. It's a fun yet exhausting process... And sometimes I need  to redo a lot of paragraphs, when I drift off, and the mood changes too drastically or in a direction I initially didn't intend it to got.</p><p>So yeah, this chapter has little angsty parts (though I intend the story to be fluff and emotional growth), and is still mostly character building, not much happening.<br/>Idk, i just tend to build my stories that way, it seems. Next chapter there will be more actual interaction and progress, I promise.</p><p>Please leave a bookmark, to show if you're interested in the continuation of the story</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry awakens with throbbing pain in his head. His tactile sense tells him, he’s lying in a bed. He blinks. His visual sense tells him, it's way too bright for his eyes and that the relevant bed is not his own bed. It also informs him, that he's seeing all that through a blurry veil, hinting he's not wearing his glasses. Mindlessly he fumbles for his wand on the nightstand, but is not rewarded.</p><p>"Accio glasses", he tries a wandless spell. Nothing happens. Exasperated he sits up.</p><p>His acoustic sense tells him, someone in the background is muttering repeatedly "shit". Must be Drew, Harry combines. Harry must have stayed the night, he combines. Harry usually doesn't stay the night, because his polyjuice potion’s effect could wear off while he sleeps. Since he apparently has stayed the night yesterday, the effect thus might have worn off by now, he combines. He looks down at himself to check the presence of this instance, as if his inability to see without glasses hasn't provided that information already. Harry panics, as every inch of his body is indeed <em>his</em> body. "Shit", he now hears leaving his own mouth in his very own voice. "Shit", he repeats.</p><p>In sudden apprehension, he raises his head, searches the room, but he is definitely alone. At least as far as he can tell in this bloody big loft. Now that it’s daylight - judging from the brightness it must be past high noon, already - he can make out the layout much better. The bed he sits in stands in a room sized alcove of the ‘main room’, if you could call it that. To his right is a big window wall facing the inconspicuous backyard. On his left side he sees most of the living area and the other window front, that faces the street and shares the view of the Thames. Looking up he sees a grid of wooden beams, whereas the real ceiling extents far above, probably in the form of a gable roof, as Harry can only suspects due to his myopia. The floor is covered with parquet;  its dark colour combined with the red brick walls, the raw wood collums and ostentatios furniture emminates the vibe of a neoclassical english manor morphed with a new york industrial apartment. The undeniable classiness screams to be further explored and Harry’s inclined to do so, if it wasn’t for his horrible headache, and the fact that the owner of the flat probably was somewhere in this flat, wondering why the fuck he woke up with Harry Potter lying beside him.</p><p>He gets up, knees giving in first. He's wearing no pants and has a solid morning wood. Was to be expected, unpleasant nonetheless. He discovers, that discomfort from nudity is much enhanced when it's your real body being exposed. With a wandless "Accio knickers" he aims for remedy, but is again not rewarded. Bloody hangover.</p><p>In helplessness because of his current poor eyesight, he fishes for whatever piece of clothes lies in front of him on the floor. The touch of the fabric alone tells him, that he was not successful in catching one of his. He’s never really had high quality wool in his hands, so Harry wouldn’t know exactly the value of this piece of tweed trousers in his hands. But he’s certain, it must be very pricy. And that it’s indeed a pair of trousers.</p><p>“Will do”, he murmurs and carefully puts them on, surprised by the pleasant feeling of it on his skin. Maybe he should consider putting more money into his wardrobe.</p><p>Then he taps around the corner towards where he remembers the kitchenette to be in search of any liquid to moist his throat. Coming from the same direction, he again hears, now lesser faint, "shit"s. They presumably come from the bathroom, of which’s localisation behind a retrospectively erected wall he’s now aware.</p><p>"Drew?" Harry reaches his hand out to open the ajar door.</p><p>"Fuck", is the immediate answer and a very fast bright blond flash slams the door close from inside the bath.</p><p>Harry stills nonplussed. "Drew?", he repeats hesitantly. The thought, that he himself might not want to be seen either, occurs with delay. The thought, that such an act would be in vain because he has already been seen, follows even later. Harry's headache intensifies. He wishes he could floo Hermione. She’d know what to do, how to proceed. For a short moment he looks out for a fireplace and actually sees one across the room, but settles with sliding down the wall to the bathroom, and waiting for Drew to come out. Seeking the talks seems to be inevitable anyway, if Harry at least wants to try and repair what damage can still be repaired. </p><p>The moment the door opens, he stands up, ready to face Drew. Or so he thought. In regret about his hasty movement, he holds tight to whatever his hands touch first as his eyes go black and he roams the air for grip. Harry hopes for wall. Instead Drew turns out to be ‘whatever his hands touch first’. More precisely his satin dressing gown, that feels no less pricy then the trousers Harry’s snitched.</p><p>"You alright?", Drew asks casually, as if he wasn't holding England's most famous wizard unhoped-for in his arms.</p><p>"I need some coffee and hangover potion", Harry murmurs.</p><p>Drew laughs uproariously. "No problem. I'll get you both, wait wherever you please. Preferably the bed”, Drew is unexpectedly cheerful. “Though I can't vouch for any ulterior motives not being involved in this suggestion." Drew’s careless good mood perturbs Harry, but in anticipation of his desired beverages he gets to one of the leather couches in the sitting area, and enjoys the absurdly impressive view, that kind of makes up for these otherwise messed up circumstances of his presence here.</p><p>Soon after, Drew comes back from the kitchen area with a steaming cup of coffee and a small flask and sits down at the other end of the couch Harry sits on. The sight of the latter remembers Harry of his own flask deep down in the pocket of his jeans, filled with the polyjuice potion he wishes he had taken before falling asleep. He receives both liquids, downing the potion then nipping at the other. The pain relief sets in straight away. At least something.</p><p>Physically recovered Harry straightens his back, inhales deeply. “Not exactly what you expected to wake up with last night, huh?” Self-irony is still the best self-protection.</p><p>“Not even close”, Drew says with an undefined smile. “Who would have thought… you’re Harry Potter.” His gaze wanders into the distance. “I’m not appalled though.” His yes search for Harry’s to meet them, linger just for a moment on his lightning scar.</p><p>“<em>That’s</em> not my concern…”, Harry says. The cup of coffee in his hands receives all his visual attention.</p><p>“I hope, I haven’t put you in an awkward situation?”, Drew asks concerned.</p><p>“No, that’s very much my own fault. I think, you can guess, that you weren’t supposed to learn about this. Especially not in this ungallant way.” He almost laughs at the absurdity of the situation. Here he sits on an iniquitous pricey couch in the care of an irresistible attractive man, on a dignified Saturday that screams to be spend solely with careless lazing and fucking around, and all he can wish for is to be at home in his bed and sober up, preferably alone in the comfortable certitude of preserved anonymity.</p><p>“I figured, yes. If it wasn’t for that ‘ungallant way’ I never would have found out, right?”</p><p>“Probably… yes. I was… I was hoping we could agree on <em>pretending</em> you never found out. I can compensate for your silence in galleons, or broom merch, or… I don’t know. Whatever suits your taste”, he shrugs, wishing his actual nervousness would not be too obvious.</p><p>Drew deliberates. “Sure, we could. I thought you’d suggest so. But I fear what suits my taste, cannot be realized with material entities.”</p><p>“I don’t get…”, Harry starts to speak but is interrupted.</p><p>“I would like to see you again”, Drew clarifies. “I know, we both had no deeper intention in mind when we embarked on our nocturnal adventure and I respect it, if you want to leave it as that. But I’d be delighted, if not.” Harry’s not prepared for something like that. He rather braced himself already for hoards of reporters importuning him with every step he makes, for harassment. Even blackmail he predicted, if the unfortunate revelation of his secret occurred. But to ever consider someone just being willing to see him again without any greater benefits but his company as unsuspicious he had nipped in the bud.</p><p>“You know this screams set-up, right?”, Harry lifts an eyebrow. He wouldn’t be too surprised if the first reporter owls arrived any second. Ill-humoured Harry wishes he hadn’t taken that hangover potion and was still blessed with limited cognitive capacity. Instead he has the full pleasure of holistic awareness of the situation and consequent annoyance, PLUS a painful knot in his head.</p><p>“I can only wonder, what impression it makes on you with regard to your former experiences. As for me, I woke up with the desire to learn more about that funny, smart guy I only had the honour to share a fracture of time with yet. And if that guy happenes to be Harry Potter, I don’t mind. I don’t want to delude you, you need to trust me on that. I think you’re interesting, and I already thought so last night. So, if you’re not completely opposed to seeing someone at the moment… I’d be glad if you considered me.”</p><p>“I don’t feel in the right condition to consider anything but penalizing myself right now.” Harry’s morbid humour only covers part of his inner conflict.</p><p>Drew snorts. “I could help you with tha…”</p><p>“Thanks for your offer. I appreciate it. I’ll think about it. But don’t get your hopes up”, Harry’s back to seriousness as fast as he slipped. He stands up, ready to leave.</p><p>“You’re wearing my trousers”, Drew observes and Harry blushes.</p><p>“Well, you don’t happen to know the whereabouts of my underwear? I’m practically blind without my glasses”, Harry plays it cool. “I didn’t feel the need to bring them with me last night”, he adds.</p><p>Drew stalks towards the kitchenette and bows. “These?”</p><p>“Yes, thanks”, Harry says dryly and snatches them out of his hand with a wandless that mercifully works. He halts, considers if he should undress right on the spot in front of Drew or if he preferers to go to the bathroom. Technically there’s nothing the other man hasn’t seen yet. On the other side, Harry’s not sure if Drew ever saw him completely naked since he is optically Harry again. Probably not.</p><p>“Shall I turn around?” It’s more of a provocation than an offer, and pretty obvious, that Drew is damn well aware of the reason behind Harry’s hesitation.</p><p>Harry, in Gryffindor manner, can be in no way inferior and take such exposure by giving in. “No, it’s fine”, he barks, and defiantly locks eyes with Drew as the pair of trousers slides down his legs and reveals his by now subsided boner. Drew tries to keep his cool, but his gaze more than once slips suspiciously to lower regions than Harry’s eyes, while Harry takes an outrageous long time to get back into his boxers.</p><p>“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you want to seduce me”, Drew snorts incredulously, voice hoarse.</p><p>“You see, what you want to see”, Harry smirks, unsure of what exactly his motive is. If he was true to himself, he’d have to admit, that it mainly consists of asserting dominance due to hurt pride. And fear. Fear that stems from excruciating uncertainty and the palpable threat to his easy days, and manifests itself in mental faint. With every rational thinking circuit shut down, Harry’s left with is his automated no-brainer charming mode, that’s usually reserved for official ministry events and that sort. Although, admittedly, undressing lasciviously has been rather less part of his repertoire so far.</p><p>“Freudian perception, huh?”, Drew jokes. He isn’t nearly as affected by Harry’s rejection, as Harry would have assumed. He shakes his head, hoping to shake away all those unhelpful nerve-wrecking thoughts aswell.</p><p>“Correct”, he acknowledges and proceed to collect his trousers, which lie not far away from where Drew had picked up his boxers. Unfortunately, Drew hasn’t moved since, and Harry finds himself to be awkwardly close and exposed to his observation while executing the humiliating act of bowing down to gather the very same clothes that only hours before were peeled from his body, by this very same man.</p><p>“What a shame, you’re not interested in the continuation of this affair. I feel like I could get used to the sight of a half-naked Harry Potter ducking in front of me.” Though it’s packaged as a joke -not a good one, admittedly-, there is indeed a touch of bitterness in Drew’s voice. Something Harry hears with delight, does it not hint, Drew might really regret the premature end of their liaison? And thus, might really not be interested in selling his story to the press?</p><p>“You know, this is considered sexual harassment?”, Harry utters casually and finally covers his legs with his own trousers again. They are a bit loose, as he already knows them to be around his hips, but, Merlin, does it feel good on his skin, on his mind. Interestingly, the degree of coping-ability of awkward circumstances seems to be in direct connection not only with the amount of clothes you’re wearing but also the ownership of them. Straightening his back, squaring his shoulders Harry regains the needed self-confidence to consider himself sufficiently equipped to survive the situation.</p><p>"Guilty. Sorry, I'm not really awake yet either, and discreetly overwhelmed," Drew says plaintively. It's undeniable that he's probably just as uncomfortable as Harry, despite his placid façade. And normally Harry would take that into account, try to put himself at least somewhat in the other's shoes. But just now? Impossible, not when his only hold and sense of control lay in putting on his own clothes.</p><p>"Mhm. It's okay. I'll finish getting dressed, and then I'll be on my way." Harry strokes through his hair, which unlike Drew's is sticking wildly off his head, unkempt, fresh out of bed. The desire for his own four walls, his bathroom, intensifies.</p><p>With quick steps he walks through the flat in search of his shirt. He notices once again how tasteful and luxurious the furnishings are, and for the first time he notices a concert grand piano, which is not exactly inconspicuous. His gaze flickers to Drew, back to the piano. It's surprisingly easy to imagine his slender fingers gliding gently but firmly over the keys, surrendering the flow of the music, the playing gradually taking on a life of its own with each successive bar he strikes. A form of passion that Harry was allowed to feel on his own body yesterday. A rush of blood towards his crotch reminds him that fantasies of this kind are counterproductive when you still have to convince yourself that there is definitely no sexual tension in the room.</p><p>Caught off guard, he averts his eyes abruptly, whispers an "Accio shirt" and then an "Accio wand". Less than three seconds later, a piece of wood unexpectedly hits him in the back of the head, accompanied by an indignant "Oi" across the room. Harry picks up the clumsily conjured wand (no need to embarrass himself with another failed spell) and immediately feels a certain familiarity, if not that of his own wand. Before he can further explore this odd sensation a fierce “Expelliarmus” snaps the wand out of his hand. Startled Harry looks up, seeing Drew, who has casted the quite impressive wandless spell, reaching out for the flying wand.</p><p>“Sorry, I’m picky with my wand”, he says shaken.</p><p>Harry blinks, still putting two plus two together. “No, uhh, I’m sorry. I actually hoped to conjure my own.” Has his spell been ambiguous? Was that even a thing? He clearly had <em>his</em> wand in mind, of course, not any wand. “Must be my hangover.”</p><p>“It’s fine. I’d gladly offer you another kind of wand… but I guess, you already declined.”</p><p>Harry blushes by that innuendo. “Right”, he clears his throat, slides his hands down his trousers in gaucherie, brushing past his back pockets, and is stunned to feel the subtle bulge of a wooden stick there. He halts, nestles at the object, and with incredulity brings his own wand in his field of vision. “What?”, he whispers.</p><p>“You okay?”, Drew asks since despite the fact that he is still standing in the kitchenette at the other end of the room, Harry's unusual capture by his wand can be openly observed.</p><p>Harry nods absently. He never had had issues with simple charms like Accio. Especially when the object in question was in such close proximity. Has his wand been just too close?</p><p>“I guess, I found my wand”, he holds it up in evidence and gives Drew a crooked smile.</p><p>“You’re an oddball”, Drew frowns smiling.</p><p>“Don’t mention it”, Harry laughs. “No, seriously, don’t mention it. I'm really off my game today."</p><p>"I can only repeat myself. I have no intention of telling anyone about this unless it is in your best interest. I like you off your game and I bet I’ll like you when you’re running at top form, if you let me get to know this side of you. Otherwise... I will, of course, give you a proper send-off”, Drew's appeasement ends in defeated resignation. Harry can’t help but be moved by it. But he has set it in his head that one-night stands remain one-night stands, and once he has an attitude, he stubbornly follows it. Attitudes do not come from nowhere. He has good reasons for holding them, and in the end it was this quality of his that saved him from many wrong decisions and ultimately even death.</p><p>“See, it was great to make your acquaintance. I regret that our time together was so short, but that is no reason for me to actively counteract this circumstance. If we meet again by chance, don’t refrain from calling out to me, though.” Harry hustles to the front door “I’ll see myself out then, alright?”</p><p>Drew follows hastily.</p><p>“Harry?” The tone of Drew’s voice is pleading. Harry turns around, only to be surprised by the soft pressure of lips on his own. It’s a farewell kiss, demanding, almost desperate, breathless, its impact overpowering Harry’s will to move. A part of Harry jumps with delight, and every effort of the whole morning to deny the existing attraction turn out to be in vain. But before Harry can actively give in, the moment is over again.</p><p>“Sorry”, Drew breaks away and laughs abashed. “I shouldn’t have. This was non-consensual.” He steps back, face marked by remorse, biting his lower lip.</p><p>“Is this your usual way of a proper send-off?”, Harry conceals his flusterdness. In hell he would admit, he enjoyed it, wanted it to last longer. Not when he had taken all his might to convince the other man of the contrary in the last 30 minutes or so.</p><p>“No. Certainly not.” Drew hides his face behind his left hand. “Apparently only when I assume I've screwed up already anyway.” Harry feels the urge to reassure him that it's nothing personal, that he is in fact freaking cute, that he himself is just not open to dating. Instead, he smiles vaguely.</p><p>“I’m off then. Take care, Drew.”</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>Harry decides to walk home. At least for a bit. He needs time and room to think, and fresh air. His thoughts still revolve around the fact that his secret is now no longer guarded only by people he has specified.  That someone completely foreign to him now knows more about him than some of his longest friends. For a brief moment he considers casting a Fidelius Spell, but quickly dismisses the idea.</p><p>As he continues to ruminate, he realizes for the first time the absurdity of one night stands. How come he has never questioned why he willingly shares his most intimate, vulnarable sides with randomly chosen people on a regular basis without much hesitation, and even appreciated this anonymity and fleetingness? In the wake of recent events, it seems insane to him that he ever considered such an idea.</p><p>In shame, Harry stops abruptly in the street and buries his face in his hands, earning him some disapproving glances from passers-by. His desolate mental and also physical state does not fit in very well with the hustle and bustle of the London streets on a sunny Saturday noon, Harry has to admit to himself. With an exasperated sigh, he determines that apparating home is currently the quickest and most effective way to escape the city's commotion. As soon as he has found a suitable out-of-sight spot, he thinks no longer and with a crack he is gone.</p><p>The exertions of the last 12 hours take effect on arrival, despite the coffee and hangover drink, and Harry praises himself for the clever idea of apparating straight to his bathroom when he empties his modest stomach contents into the toilet not a second later.</p><p>Exhausted, he leans against the porcelain bowl and a slight sense of depersonalisation creeps in. It's as if Harry is watching himself from the outside, as if he were the amiable but scatter-brained protagonist of a bad sitcom whose only plot is to depict twenty-somethings failing at life so that the same-age target audience can gentrify themselves at the sight of it. Harry snorts at the irony, that it is the kind of gallows humour, he is feeling right now, that the characters in such shows then usually employ. Oh, what a cliche he is portraying right now.</p><p>When he can no longer bear the idea of his sight, he finally gets up and freshens up at the sink, though he soon accepts that a shower might be of more use.</p><p>For much longer than necessary, he lets the hot water pelt his back, trying to conjure up the usual blissful mood of a sleepy hangover day, but failing. Yes, his muscles relax under the heat and his circulation also responds positively to the gentle stimulation, but one cannot speak of this effect being transferred to his mind. On the contrary. Instead of getting out of the shower, to look forward to his bed and a light novel while drinking a cup of tea, he feels as if he is about to take his NEWTs (even though he has never taken them in fact; if the two situations are even remotely similar in their stress potential, he sees little to no incentive to ever do so at any point, given how drained he feels right now).</p><p>So instead of shuffling to his bedroom, Harry heads to the kitchen and prepares himself another cup of coffee along with some toast.</p><p>After the first few sips, he dares to think halfway rationally again. Since he doesn't consider beating-oneself-up to be very productive, he returns to his original question and the fear that goes with it. Why is Drew not interested in selling him to the press? The only comprehensible answer to that would be, he genuinely is interested in Harry, but that just doesn’t feel realistic, as Harry sincerely wonders what behaviour of his might have convinced Drew to consider dating him. At what point has he been conceiving the aura of being dating material? Not only did Harry lie to Drew, but had also been dead drunk and then dead hungover, almost constantly on the verge of throwing up since they’ve arrived at Drew’s flat, and practically nothing but a messy nuisance. How very attractive and exactly what you look for in a one-night stand, not to say in a partner. He doesn’t take Drew for a fame-hunter though, that much he conveyed. But he cannot get rid of the feeling that something is off.</p><p>Along with the last sip, he stands up determinedly and walks hurriedly towards his fireplace. The only logical course of action in such a situation is to floo Ron. And Hermione, of course. But he waits in vain and his call goes unanswered. Crushed, he settles for writing an owl message asking them to floo him as soon as possible, without giving much indication of the reason for the urgent request.</p><p>He briefly considers whether this was unwise, but by then Siora is already flying away.</p><p>Smiling, he looks after the little ural owl. For a long time, Harry had struggled with himself, refusing almost on principle to accept another owl than Hedwig in his life. The fact that Siora finally moved in with him was more a coincidence than a conscious decision. He had discovered her injured during a test flight for the prototype of the Nimbus 3000, at that time still almost a chick, she seemed to have fallen out of the nest and been abandoned by the mother bird. He couldn't have possibly left her behind, and so he took the little bird with him, with the idea of just fattening her up at home and releasing her into the wild as soon as she was fully grown. But Siora had other plans, she had become too accustomed to Harry's company, probably too domesticated to survive in the wild, and Harry had no choice but to keep her with him. That there was no reluctance left in the end on his side, he was happy to leave unmentioned, when asked. It still felt a bit like betraying Hedwig, and sometimes he wonders for how long it will.</p><p>Shaking off the melancholy Harry closes the window, and aimlessly sits back at the kitchen table and stares into space. To say that his racing mind has come to an end would be an exaggeration, but a certain calm settles in him.</p><p>Just as he gets up to move his whereabouts to the living room, he sees a large, unfamiliar barn owl sitting on the window sill. Immediately he suspects a bad incident at Ron and Hermione's. She is expecting her first baby and is six months pregnant. Should she have come to the hospital because of some complication and someone from the staff sent Harry an owl to notify him? Quickly he lets the animal in, and takes from it the little message attached to its foot.</p><p>He breathes a sigh of relief when he can see Cas' name at the foot of the paper roll. So, this seems to be her owl, then. Fitting, Harry realises as he scratches the bird's feathers on the back of its neck. A sublime yet discreet alien beauty with a mysterious aura about her. The aslant dark eyes in its heart-shaped face actually remind him of Cas facial features as well.</p><p>"Here," he murmurs, holding out the bowl of Siora's food to the owl. While the owl gratefully feasts on it, he reads the letter.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Happy Saturday, Harry</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I hope you can enjoy today in all its glory after last night. Of course, I have little reason to doubt; I suppose you won our bet.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>In fact, I confess, I am a hopelessly nosy bitch who went away empty-handed yesterday and would at least like to feast on the lively love lives of others on this dreary. lonely Saturday</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m sure you won't let me down?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Best say a rueful thank you to Nessaja before you send her back again. She can be very vindictive at times, and I don't usually send her out on weekends until dusk.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>See how desperate I am in my boredom?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Exasperated,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>CAS</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Harry smirks. "So Nessaja is your name? Thank you for your selfless service at this ungodly hour of the day," he says, turning to the owl and stroking its feathers gently again. Nessaja chirps contentedly and presses her head a little tighter into Harry's palm. "Will you wait a moment and I'll write Cassiopeia a reply?" Nessaja nibs on his finger, which Harry takes as a "if you must, but hurry."</p><p>Quickly, he fetches a piece of paper and pen (with glee, Harry has said goodbye to scrolls of paper and quills after his Hogwarts days) and scribbles a reply.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Hey Cas,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>thanks for your sincere and not at all selfishly motivated interest in my life. As it happens, although I probably won the bet, I still wish I'd refrained from having a drink or two yesterday.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Besides an unpleasantly stinging hangover, I now also have the unspeakable honour of being blessed with the burden of being an outed world saviour. What a win.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Devastated,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Harry</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Although Harry would have preferred that his two closest friends hear about the mishap first, his need to talk to someone familiar about it wins out. Cas is the perfect person for this, after all, isn't she already privy to the back story, and has so far proven to be a trustworthy and supportive friend? Besides, nothing really matters now anyway. With an uneasy feeling in his stomach nonetheless, he dismisses Nessaja out of his window again.</p><p>Only a few minutes later, Harry had just enough time to decide whether his leftover ingredients were enough for a decent meal or whether he had to go shopping after all, there was another knock on his window and he saw the beautiful barn owl again.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>What??? Okay, I really didn't want to barge in and be discreet, but now I <span class="u">have</span> to beg you to let me come by spontaneously. You can't possibly tease me with such information and expect me to wait until Monday for further explanations.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Cas</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Nessja's more frequent gnawing on his finger makes clear, the owl's displeasure with her errand duties. "I'm sorry. Just this once more," Harry reassures her and writes his reply as succinctly as possible</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>For Nessaja's sake ;)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You know my floo address</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Then he waits on the sofa, keeping a steady eye on the fireplace. It can only be a matter of minutes before Cas stumbles through the opening, considering how quickly her reply to his first letter had followed.</p><p>And Cas is not long in coming. Dressed in a sweat suit and her hair tied in a messy bun, she gives the impression of having just jumped from the bed into the fireplace. Probably not too far from the truth.</p><p>"Harry!" she exclaims, falling into his arms with a laugh. "Thanks for having me."</p><p>Caught off guard, he pats her back and lightly joins in her laughter. Her mood is simply infectious, no matter how miserable he feels.</p><p>"Have a seat. Can I get you some tea?" offers Harry hospitably.</p><p>"What a question? Isn’t that what I am here for? For  you to spill some tea," she says, plopping down on his sofa.</p><p>When Harry comes back out of the kitchen, Cas has made herself comfortable, leaning back against the side of the sofa, knees drawn up and a cushion wedged between her stomach and legs, casually fiddling with her hair, which she has undone in the meantime.</p><p>“Soooooo?“, she asks invitingly, her gaze expectant. Harry settles down beside her, hands her one of the steaming mugs and takes a deep breath.</p><p>„Well, as you probably witnessed, he – uh, Drew is his name - took me home to his place last night. Apparently, he owns slash rents a loft in Soho, quite the posh guy if you ask me.”</p><p>Cas eyes widen in excitement, and she bites her lower lip while grinning like mad. “Go on!”</p><p>“Uhn. After almost vomiting on his floor, we proceeded where we left off at the club and got to get each other off. No, actually only I got off. And then I fell asleep…”, he ends his illustration of the last night’s events.</p><p>“Oh Merlin, Harry! You didn’t, you wanker”, she giggles, which he acknowledges with an disapproving eye.</p><p>“Apparently I did”, he shrugs, his smile fading to a scowl.</p><p>“Fuck, the polyjuice potion!”, Cas gasps when she concluded what happened next. “You forgot…” Harry’s confirmatory nod shuts her sentence off. He presses his lips together, roaming the room with his gaze in the discomfort of remembering, then releases the pressure with a loud smack of his lips. “Yip, I forgot to take another dose before dozing off.” His grip on his mug tightens. “And awoke looking like I usually do, to a guy who fell asleep to someone else.”</p><p>“How did he react?”, Cas’ hand had found its way to her mouth, concealing parts of her horrified face.</p><p>“Unsurprisingly surprised. Unexpectedly approving. Well, it was mostly me acting and reacting and him just being there, trying to not frighten me off. Yeah, it kind of felt like that.” Now that he puts it into spoken words, Drew's reaction seems far less confusing and ambiguous. In fact, for the most part he had been courteous and understanding. Enough to make up for the one or two too many inappropriate suggestive jokes</p><p>"Sounds pretty good actually, doesn't it?", Cas muses at him, apparently not quite getting the picture of where Harry himself stands on the matter.</p><p>"It does, yes," Harry admits contritely.</p><p>"But, you expected something else?", Cas probes Harry further.</p><p>"More spitefulness. If I'm honest, I expected Rita Skeeter to appear in front of me at any moment. Or at least a bit of latent blackmail. It's not every day youre being served with such a terrific lever in your hand."</p><p>"Harry, what the...? You wake up in your ONS's place and the first thing you do is accuse him of trying to sell you to the press?" It doesn't feel pleasant to be paraded like this, even if Harry knows Cas is right.</p><p>"I didn't accuse him of it in these words. And to be fair, a lot of people would probably do just that, and you know it," Harry defends himself.</p><p>"What's wrong with you? Do you think your own judgement of character is so fallible? Or do you have a thing for men, you trust to double-cross you the first chance they get?"</p><p>"Hey! I...", Harry's voice goes quiet. "I think the problem is rather, that I've seen too many times that people aren't who they pretend to be. And everyone is potentially a fraud to me."</p><p>Harry senses the mood tipping, reveals more of himself than usual, and prevents further emotional outbursts by slowly sipping his tea.</p><p>“Harry. Is that really the way you feel?”, Cas asks concerned. Harry feels his throat tightening. Of course, he is aware, that his amount of mistrust towards others has come to an unnatural state, but as long as he only allowed space for this knowledge in the seclusion of his own mind, he was always able to assure himself quite convincingly that it was perfectly justified for someone who had been through what he had been through. Looking at her sad eyes he’s taught better, though.</p><p>“Maybe”, he says, voice cracking off.</p><p>“Aw, Harry, come here”, Cas cries out and pulls him into a comforting embrace. Harry did not know that this is exactly what he needed, until he felt the warm of her body through there clothes radiating from where her legs touch his torso, her gentle hands stroking his upper back and arm. For a brief moment, Harry is in a bubble of love and security, far from fears and painful memories.</p><p>“Fuck”, he mumbles as tears shot into his eyes, but manages to hold them back. Clearing his throat, he straightens his back and sits back against the sofa’s cushion. “Thanks. Uhm… yeah. So much for that.” Nervous laughter.</p><p>“It’s fine. Sooner or later, we all reach a point like this. The important thing is, to not let it get a hold of us”, she says with an encouraging smile. Harry nods sheepishly.</p><p>“Okay, all worries and bad experiences aside. Will you see again?”, Cas shoves away the last traces of his sudden sorrow, and Harry is absolutely grateful to her for that.</p><p>“No, I’d rather not”, Harry admits.</p><p>“Why though? Bad start off?”, she asks critically.</p><p>“I just never intended to in the first place, you see? Why change my mind just because now he knows of my true identity?”</p><p>"But that's exactly where the crucial difference lies. I thought all that prevented you from dating until now was that you didn't know how to safely out yourself. Now that you've been relieved of that part, nothing stands in the way, or am I too stupid to recognise more obstacles?"</p><p>“I just don’t want to. It got nothing to do with that.”</p><p>“Yeah, sure”, Cas gibes. “Go tell that your doormat.” Harry snorts.</p><p>“Okay, so if this isn't a one-time offer on a silver platter for you, how do you think you'll ever find a partner instead?”, Cas further challenges him.</p><p>“I don’t know”, Harry huffs. “Probably not through an ad in the Daily Prophet. ‘Secret childhood star seeks discreet partner for lonely hours’. Doesn’t come off too well.”</p><p>Cas has troubles to stifle her laugh. “Harry do you even listen to yourself? Everything you say, makes it more obvious, that meeting again with Drew is a great chance you should take.”</p><p>Harry wiggles restlessly on the spot. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. I  hardly have enough time for my friends these days.”</p><p>“Then make time. Do you want to veg out into the day forever and hope that the world around you will hopefully change for the better on its own?”, she shoots back without mercy.</p><p>“No, of course not. I still don’t know if he’s not up to no good, though”, Harry keeps resisting.</p><p>“You know what we say in the Slytherin dorms? Keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer. If you’re so afraid of what he might do, better not leave him unobserved.”</p><p>This finally puts a smile on Harry’s face. “You’re impossible. I'm surprised you haven't dared me yet to another bet.”</p><p>“Good idea”, she calls out with sparkling eyes. Here is where Harry’s resilience snaps. Her support until now has been enriching and uplifting, but the mass of unpleasant confrontations this day has reached a level that first needs rest and time to process, before any more content can follow.</p><p>“Okay, now this is enough, Cas”, Harry states and gets up.</p><p>“Okay, I’m sorry”, a pouty Cassiopeia mumbles, not quite taking the hint, that Harry would like to bring the conversation to an end.</p><p>“Thanks for hearing me out, really”, he tries another way.</p><p>“Alright, alright. Thanks for having me and feeding my curiosity.” She finally gets up, too.</p><p>“Nothing brightens up my day more, than knowing you have been well entertained.”</p><p>“You’re a true devoted friend”, she snickers. After a last short hug, she takes for the fireplace. “Please consider my words, yeah?”, she says at last.</p><p>“It’s not that easy”, he whispers long after she’s stepped into the green fire.</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>As Cas' words continue to echo in Harry's head over the course of the next week, he knows that she is right and that he is indeed in danger of becoming stagnant in the wake of his self-imposed independence and overcautiousness, if he does not significantly and actively change his behaviour. But not only that. He notices with horror that he has developed tendencies to reject even his friends' attempts to approach him, at the latest when he only lets Ron's owl Tex in after four minutes of penetrative knocking on his window pane. A coping mechanism that is only slightly effective in avoiding having to deal with unpleasant things, such as being reminded that he may have to rethink his principles.</p><p>After Cas had visited him, he had to let what had been discussed sink in. By the time a floo call from Ron and Hermione in the evening corrected him that everything was fine, and they had merely stopped by the Burrow on the spur of the moment, Harry's willingness to revisit the subject had already been successfully overshadowed by his eager endeavours to write off what has happened as a closed topic and thus no longer relevant.</p><p>Since then, however, Ron has not let up, yet to get out of Harry what prompted him to compose a message with such an urgent tone. But with each successive insistence, Harry only plays it down more as a trifle.</p><p>Until, a week later on Sunday night, he can't stand the dissonance inside him any longer.</p><p>"All right! I'm doing something about it!" he shouts exasperatedly into the otherwise empty room, and energetically gets up from the sofa to sit down at his secretary, where he immediately remains broodingly in a stupor of thought.</p><p>Not infrequently, especially at work, Harry finds that he has difficulty putting his drive and ideas into practice in a meaningful way. He frantically ponders how to draft a letter that conveys both the character of a casual "I just wanted to ask how things are going" and the proper remorse for his previous inappropriate silence.</p><p>After quite a few failed attempts, which manifest as small crumpled balls of paper scattered all over his living room, intense head scratching and repeated hisses of expletives, he exhales loudly. "Okay, that'll have to do."</p><p>Heart pounding, he knots the letter to Siora's foot. "Can you deliver this message to Drew for me?" he asks, unnecessarily guarded. Worried about what he might set off with this message, he feels a heaviness attached to the letter, he thinks it a big ask to burden Siora with. But the bird only chirps softly, unimpressed by the light weight of the note.</p><p>And then she flutters away.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I can't tell when the next part will follow. Againt bits of it exist and atm4I'm pumped to write but I also have a social life and other responsibilities outside of ao3 (how dare I 😔)</p><p>Tell me in the comments, I'd you think something is off</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you for everyone who came back to this story... (and to the new one's too)<br/>and sorry. This took way longer than expected to write.. and I really notice how bad I am with writing scenes where people interact wordlessly (I wish someone would lift that burden off of me)<br/>I like to think my strong points are writing dialogue , so please bear with the weaker parts between the dialogues</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harry wipes his hands for the umpteenth time on his, now not so fresh, white button up shirt, hoping that this time the nervous sweat will be banished for longer than a few seconds.</p><p>Despite his best efforts, his hair is sticking out in all directions, as if he had been on a four-hour test flight. At least his jeans fit well and emphasize his trained legs. He will probably have to rely on that, and of course on his irresistible charm, if he wants to be convincing on his upcoming date. Somehow this feels familiar to his last encounter with Drew.</p><p>A glance at his watch reveals that by now he can be on his way without turning up unpleasantly early. At first, he had considered taking his broom, not least to have a good excuse for his tangled hair, but the stormy very April like weather decided against it. Instead, he sent Siora again to enquire whether he could Apparate without being dismembered by wards. Dishevelled, but with a positive confirmation, she returned.</p><p> </p><p>Harry's stomach still makes uncomfortable hops when he thinks of her first return from Drew. First, she was gone for considerably longer than it would normally take to get from his flat to Soho and back, and then it looked like she was coming with no news either. It wasn't until she had settled on Harry's shoulder and claimed a few cuddles that she dropped a small note from her beak. It contained four simple words</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Do you mean it?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>A defiant reaction rose up in him immediately. What is that supposed to mean? Of course, he means it. How much effort does this guy think it took him to send the letter? He almost destroyed the note in his fireplace and swore he would never think about Drew again, but a few angry stomps through his room and the subsiding of the first emotional wave later, his defiance was joined by joy and understanding. Harry, admittedly, had not been particularly consistent up to this point in expressing interest in further contact. He himself would have been the first to approach the whole thing with suspicion. Nevertheless, it cost him a great deal of pride-swallowing to compose a second message affirming his serious intentions.</p><p>Fortunately, the second reply provoked fewer defensive reactions in Harry. Drew was much more detailed and emotional about continuing to stand by his offer to get to know Harry.</p><p> </p><p>And so it came about that they had scheduled a date for the afternoon of the very next day. Despite the temporally close proximity from the start, Harry was startled to realise just how soon it was the time to leave. A second check on the clock confirms that it is indeed so. He takes a deep breath, puts on a thin windbreaker - just in case he does have to step outside the front door - and visualises the flat he couldn't leave fast enough just a week ago.</p><p>A nauseating moment of darkness later, he finds himself near the front door inside that apartment.</p><p>"I'm here," he calls, as if the loud crack of Apparition hadn't already announced him clearly. Drew rushes out of the door behind which Harry remembers the bathroom.</p><p>"Harry, hi!" he says breathlessly. "You're here." With hands still damp, he brushes strands of his loose hair out of his face, and then provisionally tries to rubs them dry with themselves. Harry notes with amusement, that for Drew his clothes are definitely not considered to be a towel substitute. Fair enough since he’s wearing black suit trousers and a white shirt, probably remnants of his work attire. Maybe Harry was a tad too punctual.</p><p>"Yes. I'm here," he utters again with a crooked smile.</p><p>"Sit down, I'll be done in a minute”, Drew says and ushers Harry towards the leather couches, then disappears back into the bathroom.</p><p>"Okay," Harry murmurs and shrugs his shoulders. He settles down on the sofa closest to him and the comforting sinking into the soft leather paired with the still breath-taking view over London throws him back in time. Panic spreads, and it takes some effort to consciously suppress it. It helps to remind himself that he is here voluntarily, wearing his own clothes, freshly showered and unhungover. And that not a single reporter has shown up at his place since his last visit. So why should it happen now? Then again, this could be a belated set-up.</p><p>Harry's thoughts are interrupted when Drew slides into his field of vision. "Coffee?" he asks, holding out a cup to Harry. Oh, the resemblances.</p><p>Drew has exchanged his suit trousers for dark blue chinos, which in Harry's eyes is only a minimal downgrade towards a casual look. On the other hand, considering his first impressions of Drew, he didn't expect much else, which is why he himself has dressed up much more deliberately and formal than he would usually do for a meet up (he’s still resistant to call it a date).</p><p>"Thanks," Harry says, accepting the cup. He can't help but compare every movement, every word with the last time he was there, as Drew sits down across from him and rests his forearms on his knees, his upper body leaning towards him. Harry surveys him in silent anticipation, something he had studiously avoided the last time. The reason goes without saying; Drew is just outrageously good looking. If he had exposed himself to this sight for a longer period of time, who would have been able to tell whether he wouldn't have folded sooner or later that morning. The irony of him now sitting here again anyway, does not escape him.</p><p>"Forgive me, if I come straight out with it, I have to..." it suddenly blurts out of Drew, ending in a falter. "I was going to ask you, but was afraid you'd... mhh...," he squirms and Harry smirks.</p><p>"If I had written it, possibly you would have remembered, and...”, Drew bumblingly takes the floor again. “I just wanted to make sure to hear it from you in person."</p><p>"Yes?", Harry grins, amused but also mildly confused. He likes this slightly self-conscious, endeavoured Drew. He seems approachable, sincere.</p><p>Drew inhales deeply. "Why? I mean, why did you change your mind?"</p><p>Harry laughs. "You were afraid I'd change my mind back if you asked me why I changed it initially?"</p><p>Drew's gaze hardens, piercing eyes indicating the willingness of a just as sharp tongue to punish any further humiliating utterances threatening his pride, but on the next breath the clenched jaw gives way to an embarrassed smile. "Do you blame me?"</p><p>"Yeah, but I'll refrain," Harry jokes, way to smitten with Drew’s appearance to perceive the short facial derailment let alone question it.</p><p>Drew grins in relief. "I'd still like to get an answer."</p><p>Harry considers. He acted, ultimately, from the motive of getting that annoying little voice of Cas's out of his ear. At least that is the reason he holds up to himself in order to be able to leave his actual subconsciously simmering needs and desires untouched for a little longer. But as long as he wants to keep dwelling in this blissful denial, he can’t possibly tell him that.</p><p>"The absence of a lurid article in the Daily Prophet made me wonder. I thought I'd better check to make sure you hadn't fallen into a permanent coma from sensationalism."</p><p>"Thanks for the concern”, Drew laughs. “As you can see, I'm perfectly fine. The near coma only hit me when your tiny owl was knocking like crazy on my window here," his eyes wander to the window front. "Thought a bird had accidentally hit the glass at first, despite my protective spells."</p><p>Harry can well imagine Siora eagerly and at the same time desperately fluttering up and down the pane, hoping to find an opening or at least a surface to land on.</p><p>"It also only took her two minutes to understand from my hand and foot signs that you can only get in from the other side of the house. As an owl."</p><p>Harry sighs "Sorry, for the life of me I didn't think that far ahead when I sent Siora off." He shakes his head unconsciously. "If I remember correctly, I wasn't thinking much at all, except that I hoped I didn't make the wrong decision."</p><p>Drew gives him a thoughtful look. "I hope so too."</p><p>Harry leans back and takes a deep sip of coffee. "Perhaps Cassiopeia's reaffirming words have also revised my judgement. Apparently, my friends are not happy with the way I'm conducting my love life."</p><p>"Is that so? Cassiopeia was your effervescent friend from ‘The Fortune Teller’, wasn't she?", Drew plainly responds to Harry's honest addition, without any further remark, thankfully.</p><p>"That's the one”, Harry affirms.</p><p>"Then I guess I owe her a second debt of gratitude for laying the tracks for us."</p><p>Harry nods in agreement, thoughtful. Drew's fixed interest in his persona still casts incomprehension for him.</p><p>"Honestly, I have a question to get off my chest too. Why me?" he asks, now also leaning briskly on his knees. "Why not find another, easier-to-get guy?"</p><p>The corners of Drew's mouth twitch into a slight smile that doesn't extend to his eyes. "If you want a detailed, argumentative answer to that, I'll have to disappoint you. In the end, I suppose my motive can be reduced to the vague sense of a wavelength existing between us."</p><p>Harry's tension, which had built up unnoticed, unwinds leisurely. "Fair enough," he acknowledges. "I can be very judgmental. It's almost impossible to meet someone who isn't already biased in some way or another because of my notoriety. And it's always a tightrope walk to sense who is just projecting their ideas of me onto me and wants to bathe in the glow of fame." Harry smiles apologetically. "Or who is really interested in getting to know me," he adds with a big exhale.</p><p>"You'll have to live with a bit of uncertainty I fear," Drew replies to Harry's revelation of personal issues. "Suggestion: We start all over again. Unbiased, tabula rasa."</p><p>"I doubt it'll do any good, but fine. I'm Harry Potter, and you?" he says sceptical and extends a hand to introduce himself.</p><p>“A pleasure! The name rings a bell, but I just can’t grasp where I´ve heard it yet.”</p><p>Harry lifts a questioning eyebrow, but plays along, doesn’t it build on their previous tomfoolery. “Never mind. The Prophet might have mentioned me in an article alongside the reporting of the Second Wizarding War. But in one way or another, weren’t we all involved?”</p><p>“Truer words were never spoken… If you please, refer to me as Drew.” Inside, Harry sighs disappointed. He had hoped to get Drew's real name now, but doesn’t bother enough to mention it explicitly.</p><p>Soon their somewhat artificial small talk turns to more profound chatter about various topics. Harry learns that Drew went to Hogwarts, too, two years below him, making him 22 now, and was sorted into Slytherin. As an only child of a pureblood family (who would have thought), as Drew told with slight disdain in his voice, his parents moved to France as soon as the return of Voldemort was no longer deniable after the fight at the ministry. He didn’t come back to complete his education in England though, ans stayed at Beauxbatons, even after the war was over, but returned to England for 4 ago to start working at the financial department at the Ministry. Harry also learns that Drew’s favourite colour is green, and that he has been playing the piano for 15 years, and that he knows not even half of Harry’s favourite music groups and artist, be they wizarding or muggle, despite his musical background. This lack of vital knowledge however rather itches Harry to immediately apparate them to his flat and show Drew his excessive CD and Vinyl collection instead of diminishing his picture of him. That might be also due to the fact that all while talking, Drew emanates the aura of someone who feels comfortable in their skin, infecting Harry to do so, too. Something Harry yearns for.</p><p> </p><p>Their first round of coffee follows a second, this time though, Drew comes down right next to Harry with their two cups. This way they might not be facing each other as comfortably as before when they sat diagonal to each other, but the change of seating has effectively closed their distance by a good 5 foot. This results in an arrangement, that suddenly facilitates lots of direct-touch related incidents including knees and other parts of extremities accidentally brushing while laughing or gesturing enthusiastically or simply shifting weight to sit differently. In this arrangement Drew has it also much easier to rest his arms on the backrest, semi-accidentally just right behind Harry. And Harry finds himself in situation, where he can lean back into such an indirect embrace definitely non-accidentally, so that his hair is destined to tickle the skin of Drew’s arm.</p><p>“What is it with your hair, that it’s always a mess?”, Drew snickers and curls one of Harry’s strands around his finger.</p><p>“I’ve given up on finding out. If you know of a spell to tame it though, I’m all ears.”</p><p>“Sadly not. I only know of ways to mess it up even more”, he gives Harry an auspicious look. “Which might not be in your best interest.”</p><p>“If I always look like I’m freshly shagged, I might as well actually be.” Harry observes mildly alerted that he’s returned to sheer bluntness about expressing his sexual attraction towards the man next to him.</p><p>“Are you inviting me?”, Drew smirks, while his eyes blaze with desire.<br/>“Well, I’m not begging you”, says, yet moves in closer. Drews hand still lingers next to Harry’s head and starts to firmly rake through his hair, fastens its grip around some strands in the nape of his neck.</p><p>“You certainly won’t have to,” he says and Harry feels the warm stream of breath on his cheeks, holds his own breath in anticipation. Excitement ripples through his chest, the urge to pull Drew closer immediately, the wish this hand in his nape would make use of its excellent positioning, anything to just get rid of this god damn ridiculous gap between their lips.</p><p>He watches Drew's face intensively, looking for signs of resonance, a hint, if he feels the same need when the sudden realisation of it still being daylight hits him. It feels like ages since he’s last made out on an occasion, that hadn’t originated during the late hours in some club. In his own body.</p><p>He can’t treat this like a whimsical pick up, can he? He wouldn’t know, and he needn’t know, because the announced assault isn’t put into practice.</p><p>Instead Drew seems to have gained back composure, and all manifestation of passion fades into a simple gesture of tenderness, where his clenched fist recoils and his thumb comes upfront to lightly caress Harry’s cheeks. “I’d like to… postpone, though.”</p><p>“Uh, okay”, Harry replies, caught completely off guard.</p><p>“Excuse me please for a moment “, Drew says and heaves himself up, and before Harry can even contemplate the change of events completely, he has gone to the toilet.</p><p>Sulkily Harry frowns und crosses his arms, when on a second thought he appraises this outcome. He’s not here to just pick up where their ONS left off, is he?</p><p>When it takes him to long to wait for Drew to come back, he gets up, too. Interested he takes for the concert piano and presses some of the keys randomly. With not one lesson of musical education since primary school it’s bound to sound enharmonic and he decides to leave the actual playing of instruments to those who have learned how to, and to remain the enjoying listener. Next stop is the fireplace, or rather, a couple of photos hung above it. They picture coastal landscapes at different weather conditions, each a perfectly looped capture of moving waves, mesmerizing Harry for a good moment. Especially the stormy weather one.</p><p>“Those were actually shot by me”, Drew’s voice sounds from behind.</p><p>Harry gives him a quick look, then retreats back to the photographs. “I like them. Where were they taken?”</p><p>“Côte d'Opale”, Drew now leans onto Harry's back, lets his arms be supported by his shoulder girdle and his head hang next to Harry’s right ear. “Where I’ve lived after… uh and during the war.”</p><p>“Do you miss it? Living at the sea?”</p><p>“Sometimes. I can always apparte to some coastline if I feel like it, though. English one’s of course. The continent’s a bit too far.” He reminisces. “But yes. Living in a small cottage stands in stark contrast to London. Sometimes for the better, sometimes not. Depends on what state of mind you’re in.”</p><p>Harry nods in a small gesture, somewhat restricted in his movements by Drew’s weight.</p><p>“Yeah.” The only time he was ‘living’ close to the sea was during their hunt for the Horcruxes 5 years ago. A time when he had to accept the death of Dobby and so many others not to speak of the upcoming confrontation with Voldemort while still trying to hold his shit together. Not quite the moment to make assessments of the suitability of a cottage by the sea as a permanent lifestyle.</p><p>“Why did you choose this place then?”, he asks instead of sharing his experiences.</p><p>“I wanted something that felt open yet intimate. Although I live right in the city centre and the window front virtually invites people to watch me, the flat gives me the exact opposite feeling. I feel safe in the knowledge that I can see over everything from above without having to be part of it. Of course, the option of disillusionment spells and the necessary small change also played a deciding role.” Harry rolls his eyes at these last words.</p><p>“Well, let’s see then, what this luxurious flat has else to offer”, he says and scours the place further, passing the sleeping area to his left nearing the kitchenette.</p><p>„What’s behind that door?”, Harry asks, pointing his thumb at the corresponding one.</p><p>“Staircase”, Drew answers, as if it was obvious.</p><p>“Staircase? Where to?”, he asks forehead wrinkled, looking up warily, and it’s then the first time he realizes, not all of the space above the wooden beams is emptiness up to the roof. It’s difficult to see from the main room level, because of the beams and a large lamp installation in the kitchen area, but there is indeed another kind of room right above the bathroom.</p><p>“What’s there?”</p><p>“Want to see for yourself?”</p><p>“Sure. Yes. Now?” Harry’s surprised by his own excitement.</p><p>“As you please”, Drew says and opens the door, guiding the way in a butler’s manner. Grinning fat, Harry can’t be told twice. The room is basically just a narrow short windowless hallway with a wooden spiral staircase in the middle.</p><p>As he climbs the steps, the creak of the wooden floorboards beneath his feet, the smoothly polished</p><p>finely carved banister under his fingers, he comes closer with each step to a hatch closed with a wooden flap door. When he can't get any further, he turns questioningly to Drew.</p><p>"Just push up," he grins encouragingly.</p><p>Harry does as he's told, somewhat jerkily, under the under the misjudged slight resistance, and an unexpected amount of light floods towards him through the small gap. A little unsettled but driven mainly by curiosity, he pushes the flap completely open and scrambles up the last steps. Almost blind, he stops at the end of the stairs, his hand still resting on the banister until his eyes have adjusted to the intense light.</p><p>"Wow, Amazing," Harry breathes as he takes in the scenery of a light-filled conservatory-office-morph. A dormer completely glazed has been set into the gable of the roof, and Harry realises that the opposite internal wall is also glazed as he can vaguely make out the features of the kitchen this time from above through the beams. For the moment, the sun has forced its way through the dense cloud cover and bathes the conservatory in a wonderful play of light and shade.</p><p>In the centre stands a massive antique desk, strewn with parchment, folders, writing utensils and a retro 50s lamp. On the far wall he recognises a small table with a cauldron, above it a shelf with potion ingredients in jars, each meticulously labelled and ordered by colour, a funny contrast to the mess on the table. And, of course, to all the plants standing and hanging everywhere. The room is more greenery than anything else and a certain jungle atmosphere emanates from it. Harry isn't sure if he's imagining a slight whirring sound and wouldn't be surprised if a small monkey or a bird jumped on his shoulder or a swarm of butterflies rose from one of the flower pots. But then again, he thinks, Drew is probably more the type whose level of pet-keeping is limited to a delivery owl. Judging from an empty birdcage with an open door hanging in the corner to his left, he seems to be right.</p><p>He turns around in search of Drew, who’s only a few steps behind and smiles blissfully.</p><p>"You like plants," Harry states flattened. Drew reveals a sheepish look almost like a boy being caught doing something naughty.</p><p>"Seems like it, yeah. Just somewhat... happened eventually in the last years."</p><p>A second, more detailed look reveals to Harry that the choice of plants is also quite deliberate. "Not magical specimens, are they?", gently he strokes the leaves of an ivy hanging from the ceiling right next to him, without hesitation, unlike what he was used to from herbology back in Hogwarts, where each plant represented a particular kind of danger or claim.</p><p>"No. Only muggle plants. I certainly despised herbology at Hogwarts. But boringly normal muggle plants? Ironically their unagitated nature fascinate me. They and I can exist in a quiet calm co-existence. I spend a lot of time here. No pressure or expectations due to responsibility that ever so often and inevitably arises from contact with any other life form." Drew's gaze becomes a little delirious, a slight laugh has crept onto his lips. He too has stepped closer to the ivy, too, and carefully traces the contour of one of the leaves between thumb and index finger. "Aside from watering them sometimes."</p><p>A reason that deep-routed and touched is not what Harry had expected. He swallows, struggling for words in his mind. He wants to sound clever, similarly impacted, resonating, but if he's honest, Harry can only guess at Drew's connection with plants. Perhaps it's similar to how he feels when flying on a broomstick. Just flying without a destination, when his limbs dissolve, merge with the broomstick and he’s merely soaring through room and time.</p><p>"Like flying," he murmurs.</p><p>"What?" asks Drew, brought back to the present by Harry's words.</p><p>"Uhh," Harry stammers. "I feel the same when I fly. I think." He turns, becoming aware of Drew's proximity to himself, but also unable to establish any more distance because of the plants behind him, so he has to look up somewhat uncomfortably to make eye contact with Drew. Not the most flattering constellation.</p><p>Drew laughs up. "The fact that you haven't become a professional Quidditch player probably surprises half of England. Me included."</p><p>A blush of shame rises to Harry's face. He knows people are not wrong when they think of him as a typical jock, head always a bit in the clouds except when it comes to his favourite sport (that ironically takes place in the clouds). Simple-minded, qualities showing on a physical level, quick and instinctive reflexes, not especially a sensitive thinker. But it’s only half of the truth.</p><p>"Broom-designing is not far from it, after all”, he justifies himself nonetheless, can’t help to try and live up to the image. "I actually fly quite a lot through my work, in testing the new models, and to stay in shape, you know? I bet that this can be more strenuous and demanding than professional quidditch. Also, we actually <em>do</em> have a company team, which I am in." As he talks Harry’s eyes begin to light up and his words become more energetic, more joyful. He probably wouldn't describe himself as a jock, but a Quidditch-infatuated athlete probably sums it up pretty well.</p><p>"Still the position of Seeker?", Drew asks.</p><p>Harry nods with a grin. "To be honest, I'm glad I don’t play competitively. Sure, it’s exhilarating, when you claim victory for your team. But I couldn’t enjoy it as much if I knew I’d have to earn my keep." They are still standing quite close and Harry doesn't know what to make of it. He hasn't worked out with himself where he wants this meeting to go yet, and is being extra cautious now after his slip earlier.</p><p>He clears his throat, miming interest in the rest of the room to put a few steps of space between him and Drew without lacking a justification other than social uneasiness. "Did you play Quidditch at school?" he asks casually as he surveys a cast-iron watering can with exaggerated attention.</p><p>"Of course," Drew bursts out almost indignantly. Harry raises an eyebrow.</p><p>"Um, not on the team though. Just recreationally with friends."</p><p>"Ah, yeah right. Otherwise we'd probably have met on the field before," Harry muses, oblivious to the way Drew leans against the wall, a touch too emphatically casual. "Did you have a favourite position still?"</p><p>"Most times I was the seeker," he smirks at Harry. "Had some tell me I’m not that bad. Even if I probably can't match your talent." Harry hears a bit wistfulness from his last words.</p><p>"Have you tried? I mean, to get into the team? After Malfoy threw in the towel, there really wasn't anything left at your house. I mean, I know you weren’t at Hogwarts anymore at that time, but a few more fair-playing members wouldn’t have been too bad." he laughs, yet notices Drew grimacing at his words. Perhaps Harry himself has let his not-very-affection towards Slytherins back in school shine through a little too much.</p><p>"Nah. My ambitions weren't that high, I was still only a, uh, third grader, before we moved. And to be honest, I became a bit estranged from the others at some point, anyway." A dark shadow flits across Drew's face. Should Drew possibly also have had his differences with identifying as a Slytherin-member?</p><p>"Hey, uh, sorry, I didn't mean to hit a sore spot.” Suddenly, talking about old school days doesn't feel so nice and light-hearted after all. Or talking in general. Harry knows by now that his strong points don't exactly lie in approaching delicate topics gently.</p><p>Uneasy, he fiddles pointlessly with one of the handles of the cauldron in which a less than appetizing liquid is simmering away.</p><p>"It's fine." And from the pitch of his voice Harry senses that Drew means it.</p><p>Relieved, he exhales. "So. You have an owl?" he asks with a nodding chin towards the empty cage.</p><p>"Yes. A great horned owl. Grey plumage, interesting green eyes", he appraises Harry, then snickers. "I named him Peagreen for that."</p><p>“Can’t wait to meet him.”</p><p>“Maybe you can sooner than you think.”</p><p>Harry’s then being told more about the plants that have been set up, when he explicitly requests it, his attention being much more focused on the passionately narrating Drew than on the actual content. They linger in the conservatory as long as the sun gives off its last rays, then go back downstairs.</p><p>Both their stomachs are complaining audibly by now, and Drew offers to toast a few slices of bread and spread them with butter or something similar as a makeshift solution. Giggling, the two men stand in the corner of the kitchen, enjoying their more than needy dinner to a disproportionate degree, but probably even more enjoying each other's company.</p><p>Once finished they retreat back to slouch on the couches until at 1 am Harry jumps up, startled by the early hours and affirming he has to leave because he has work to attend to tomorrow, not because he's had enough of the evening.</p><p>"I had a really good time tonight”, he practically beams, cheeks slightly flushed. “I wouldn’t mind to repeat this sometime in the future.”</p><p>Drew too has come to his feet now. “Me neither. It was a pleasure having you here. I also enjoyed myself a lot”, he utters equally stilted parting words.</p><p>Harry starts an inept handshake, but in the process decides on a hug, which ends in an awkward laugh-provoking mess. “Thank you for putting up with me.”</p><p>“Sure”, Drew smiles, squeezes softly and brushes Harry’s arms longer than necessary when they detach from the embrace. “Well then, arrive home safely and get yourself a good night’s sleep.” He steps back, so Harry can apparte without reservations.</p><p>“See you.”</p><p>
  <em>Crack.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>At home he realises, that they departed without defining what purpose the meeting had served. In the end they had not been making out at all, and to his surprise he’s very much at peace with this state of affairs. What hasn’t been yet, may yet come. And if they end up just talking on their next date, it might be just fine, too. Wasn’t that supposed to be the natural course of events anyway. Though technically, it was already too late to approach things in the proper order.</p><p>Smiling Harry glides into his bedsheets, giddy with excitement of what’s to come in the next days.</p><p>A shadow hangs over him, when he notices, that he hasn’t told his best friends yet about the latest circumstances in his life, but it’s the kind of darkness, that helps with falling asleep rather than evoking anxiety-driven insomnia.</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>The next morning, he gets down on his knees in front of his fireplace, and attempts to floocall through to Ron and Hermione. His whole body tingles as he calls out several times into the apparent void.</p><p>"Oh, Harry, tomorrow," Ron's yawning face does appear in the embers in front of him. "Did something happen? Did I forget something?"</p><p>"Morning, Ron. No everything’s fine, don't worry. I'd like to invite you and Hermione over to my place tonight on the spur of the moment though. Does that work for you?"</p><p>"I think so. MOINE? Do we have time for Harry tonight? She says 'yes'."</p><p>Harry's face lights up. "Great, then I'll expect you guys at seven. Is take-away food okay?"</p><p>"Always for me. Hermione gets her own food when in doubt. With her mood swings and cravings currently, it's impossible to predict in the morning what she might like in the evening anyway." He rolls his eyes, but his tone clearly shows his affectation towards her.</p><p>"I understand. I'll see you later then," Harry laughs, getting up to throw another pinch of floopowder into the fireplace and disappearing into the fire for work.</p><p> </p><p>~*~</p><p> </p><p>"How are you?" asks Harry as Hermione steps out of the fireplace holding her clearly bulging belly.</p><p>"Can't complain," she smiles with composure, straightening her back for emphasis.</p><p>"I can," murmurs Ron, who had arrived a few seconds before her, but immediately appeases any commotion from his wife in the bud with an affectionate kiss on the cheek. He nevertheless earns a small peck in the side for his joke.</p><p>"What's up, Harry? It's not every day you invite us to dinner on an ordinary Tuesday night," she doesn't beat around the bush as she takes a seat at his dining table. "Do you have tea?"</p><p>"Sure," he says, fetching a tray with hot water, cups and various teas from the kitchen. Ron has also joined them at the table on his return.</p><p>"Have you ordered yet?" he asks, looking curiously into the kitchen.</p><p>"No, I wanted to give Hermione a chance to indulge in her spontaneous cravings."</p><p>"Thank you, Harry," she replies, a surprising amount of sincere gratitude ringing through. "I feel very much like Chinese today." Ron nods in agreement and Harry looks for the relevant flyer from their regular supplier. After a quick skim of the card (purely pro forma, since they all know it by heart anyway), the order is out by owl post.</p><p>"So, you don't think I'd just like to have a nice evening with my best friends?", Harry brings the conversation back to the topic at hand.</p><p>"No," chimes in unison.</p><p>"At least not when you thread it like you did this morning," Ron adds.</p><p>"Not to mention your ominous owl message last week, Harry. We know something's up," Hermione grins mischievously.</p><p>If Harry wasn't used to his friends seeing through him every time he thinks he's cleverly hiding things from them by now, he'd probably blush with embarrassment. This way, he just laughs a little sheepishly.</p><p>"Am I that obvious, or are you just very observant?"</p><p>"If you consider the perceptiveness of a flubberworm to be very observant, then it's down to us alone," Ron jibes, to which Harry flips two fingers.</p><p>"All right. Since I can't deny it any longer... the best thing is to start with Saturday before last. You know the arrangements I tend to go with when celebrating." Ron and Hermione exchange a look that makes it clear how they feel about it, but don't comment further. Harry decides not to comment further either and continues to recount the events of the evening and the next morning in a censored version, including the fact that Drew is keeping his real name a secret.</p><p>"Don't tell me I had it coming," he says in conclusion, before any of them can say anything.</p><p>"I don't have to, I credit you with enough sense to know that for yourself. Besides, remorse is not much use in this scenario anyway. It's more a question of how you deal with it now," Hermione lectures Harry.</p><p>"What's he supposed to do? He can't do more than ask nicely without losing his dignity. And apparently it was enough. At least I haven't read anything about a Harry Potter outing."</p><p>"Thank you, for that benevolent assessment of my scope. Honestly, I've seen other options for myself and have already set them in motion."</p><p>"Oy, mate. I thought you called us here, so we can help you out," Ron cries scandalized. "You didn't think I might like to be of assistance? What kind of rubbish do you take my advices for?" Harry hadn't expected a reaction this vehement, even though he knows he has been somewhat neglectful of Ron's attempts at contact in particular over the course of the last week.</p><p>"Uh. Sorry, I did invite you now, though" he apologises. "I perceived it as more of a me thing."</p><p>"Let him speak, Ron. What have you done, then?" Harry is grateful for Hermione's intervention. Since her training as a mind healer, she has admittedly actually morphed into a wonderful conversationalist and advisor. For the life of him, he wouldn't want to do without Ron's input because of this, but it helps the goal setting to have someone there to follow the conversation on a meta level and guide it if necessary.</p><p>"I decided that I should possibly give Drew a chance. We met again yesterday." Strangely, he is embarrassed to tell the others about it.</p><p>"But that's wonderful, Harry! How did it go?" gloats Hermione. "Oh boy, to think it's still happening. I'd almost lost hope that you'd let someone new into your life again."</p><p>"Maybe Harry was attracted by his anonymous aura. After all, Drew unequivocally <em>hasn't</em> been playing with his cards on the table from the start."</p><p>"You say it as a joke, but there might be something to it. Knowing something is definitely wrong can give one a false sense of security," Hermione muses.</p><p>"Hey, I'm still sitting here too," Harry snaps irritated. He appreciates his closest friends, since he knows he can always confide in them, but unfortunately, they also know him best and demonstrate his shortcomings a little too clearly from time to time.</p><p>"Just kidding, Harry. I'm really happy for you. Was it good then?", Ron shares a warm grin.</p><p>"Yeah, it was." Harry, too, can now no longer hide a grin. “I mean, definitely awkward, but I think I might actually try and date him.”</p><p>“Aw. I’m so excited”, Hermione joins in. “I really hope, it turns out well, for the both of you. And don’t hesitate to consult me next time, something buggers you.” She takes his hand to squeeze it encouraging.</p><p>A muffled banging from the kitchen indicates the arrival of their food. For the next 10 minutes cosy, wordless silence occupies the room, only to be broken the clacking of cutlery, the sound of food being eaten and occasional appreciative sounds.</p><p>Until a small figure clanks against the dining room window.</p><p>“YOU! What are you doing here?”, Hermoine yelps with disdain.</p><p>“You notice it?”, Harry wonders, as he himself has never seen this owl, and gets up, to let it in. The bird lands on Harry’s stretched out lower arm and obediently holds up its claw, where a little note has been attached.</p><p>“Oh”, Hermione turns white. “Shucks, that was unprofessional, I really shouldn’t have. I made his acquaintance at work, the other day. He’s one of the lesser friendly owls, if I ought to say so.”</p><p>Expectant green eyes, unusual for an owl, fixate Harry, while he fumbles with loosening the thread that holds the note, and before even opening the note, he knows who the sender is.</p><p>“His name is Peagreen”, he tells the others.</p><p>“Hey, you little nut case. How come Harry’s being spared?”, Hermione nags. “He wouldn’t leave Maggie alone until she gave him an unreasonable number of pellets for his ‘services’. I shushed him away. Ouch”, she wails, as Peagreen decided to retaliate her snide comment and started to peck on her hair. “Well, he obviously took a grudge on me for that.”</p><p>Harry shakes his can of owl treat, hoping to distract Peagreen from his revenge campaign with success. The bird eagerly picks treat after treat, and Harry finally snatches the note off its leg.</p><p>“Why would he come to your place?”, he asks, though he already assumes to know the answer</p><p>“He supposedly is the owl of one of our patients or their visitors”, Hermione sighs.</p><p>“This is actually Drew’s owl”, Harry reveals, facing Hermione with an odd look.</p><p>“Harry, no!”</p><p>Ron casts confused glances back and forth between the two of them.</p><p>“I don’t even know, if he wasn’t there just by chance. Maybe that’s why he was so angry.”</p><p>“You could look it up, right?”</p><p>“Harry, I mustn’t! I already said too much. Even if I knew, which I uprightly don’t, I wouldn’t tell you. And I will not try to find out. That would only make it more uncomfortable.”</p><p>“Please”, he pleads halfheartedly. It tingles under his fingernails; the answer is so close and yet so far. But he also knows Hermione has the necessary discipline to block out any clue that might actually reveal the owner's identity to her.</p><p>“Can someone tell me, what I missed to catch up?”, Ron laments.</p><p>“Harry just hopes to bribe me into exploiting my authority”, she answers in an angry tone.</p><p>“As if you aren’t interested, too”, Harry retorts.</p><p>“Of course, I am. And I will learn of it, the moment you tell me, because he told you of his own.” She crosses her arms, he Harry and Ron both know the topic has been closed and they’d to smart with not bringing the subject up again this evening.</p><p>The three of them finish off their meal after the small interruption by Peagreen has been ended with his farewell, and then soon after Harry sees them off, too.</p><p>While he is putting away the foods packaging, he remembers that he still has Drew's unread message waiting for him in his pocket. In all the commotion, he has completely forgotten to look at what it says.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Good evening, Harry</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I really enjoyed yesterday. Hope to see each other again, soon.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m free on Friday, let me know, if that’s fine with you, too.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I wish you a good night’s sleep.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Drew</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Harry smiles inanely, and promises to answer tomorrow, as he’s way to sleepy now. He goes to bed so deeply satisfied with the latest events.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>THE big revelation will take place next chapter, but I really can't tell when I will have it finished. I have a full time internship atm so not much time to write</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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